


Coping Mechanism

by Demytasse



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Apologies, Awkward Tension, Bad Puns, Bickering, Bittersweet, Conflict, Conflict Resolution, Coping, Cute, Domestic, Established Relationship, Exes, Falling In Love, Family Bonding, Feelings, Fighting, Fluff, Forgiveness, Friendship, Guilt, Hope, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Living Together, Love/Hate, M/M, Male Friendship, Melancholy, Memories, Mistakes, Misunderstandings, Not Cheating, Past Relationship(s), Platonic Relationships, Post-Break Up, Relationship Issues, Relationship Problems, Reminiscing, Sad and Happy, Sad and Sweet, Sexual Tension, Siblings, Stubborness, Sweet, Teasing, Tension, Texting, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, dubious marriage proposal, loving, talks of marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-12-26 18:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18287795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demytasse/pseuds/Demytasse
Summary: Even the strongest relationships have issues, but are the most chaotic of bonds worth repairing when they break? Izaya takes his time to revisit the trials and tribulations of his relationship with Shizuo, whom can't understand why it's necessary.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oneshot I started writing a year ago. Started editing it and wound up turning it into a chapter fic.
> 
> Tumblr Link: https://demytasse.tumblr.com/post/183800519296/shizaya-coping-mechanism-ch-1-why-the

     "Why the hell are you even here?" Shizuo struggled to focus on Izaya, unsure of if he was of flesh and bone or just a hallucination.

  
Yet outside of the apartment, Izaya knew of his own corporeal existence, wearing a smile reserved for those on good terms and propped up against the door frame like it was natural for one to find him there — far too lackadaisical for one fifty-two in the morning.

  
     "I suppose it  _ is _ an oddity.”

  
Shizuo was skeptic; the answer told him both nothing and everything he needed to know. 

  
     He knocked back his head with a groan. "You were drinking." 

  
     "On the contrary, I'm quite sober." Izaya chuckled, "unless you count the stupour caused by over-rumination, something that I'm regrettably under the influence of." 

  
     “ _ Like I said _ , you’re drunk."   
  
  
     “Oho~ I’m impressed by this unusual wit you've gained in all this time we've been apart."   
  


     "Yeah, well..." he yawned through the response. 

  
     "...and there it goes flying off." 

  
     " Tch …”   


  
It seemed Shizuo was curious — maybe too tired to act reluctant — as he barely nudged the door to close it; ineffective as it was, Izaya ensured the spring-hinge didn’t finish the job. 

  
     “So irritable…” he shook off nerves as he followed the zombie’s shuffle inside, but was struck with compulsion to stop. 

  
Izaya watched as the other proceeded without him to turn the corner; his spy switched to the surroundings that darkness partially ate.

  
Shizuo’s apartment was just as he remembered — cold with a signature musk. It was dull, with an unfavourable streetlamp that spilled its sick colouration into the room to define outlines of unrefined furniture; the room’s shadows infrequently strobed as cars drove passed to make him queasy. Even fully lit the living area would adopt an empty touch of depression.

  
The space lacked decorative charm, kept only to the basics — a single couch and table, a couple of chairs and lamps, and a television that showed off a collection of strewn Blu-ray that featured a particular actor. Hardly a blank canvas primed for creativity, just simple; adjacent to the wrong part of town and speckled with a myriad of nuances that bugged Izaya like gnats that sometimes set up residency.

  
     “...the fuck did that bastard go,” and the acoustics projected mumbles only meant for whom they were uttered — bounced unnecessary sound to inflict one with a dizzying effect. 

  
Frankly, the space did little to cater Izaya’s personal needs — it was boring — inexplicably like its owner,  _ or perhaps was that too harsh. _

  
Which is precisely why it made no sense that he wound up there, other than the control of faulty logic and rationale.

      
     “Clearly I'm lost in this maze of a mansion. Should I keep my hand on the wall to find you?”

  
Izaya remained tied to his shoes at the front, to which he rocked from heel to toe in anticipation of a real welcome inside.

  
     “Was I talking to you!?”

  
     “I suppose you weren't,” he craned his neck to peer at his potential host who didn’t notice.

  
Shizuo’s sigh was amplified as he felt around for the light switch; he hissed when his pupils maladapted to the illumination. 

  
     "There's tea...or coffee… Can't remember what you drank at night...or morning..." 

  
     “It's morning.”

  
     “... whatever.” He rubbed his eyes. “Tell me whatcha want or I'm guessing.”

  
Ignoring his own query, the blind tenant went straight for a cabinet like a habit no longer practiced, neglected a few dainty cups to produce a mug that countered with a heavy thomp. Surely it wasn't precognition, but a preference he remembered.

  
     "Coffee is fine."

  
     “Mmm.”

  
Still hesitant, Izaya gazed down at his feet to coerce them, as if  _ they _ were the ones that prevented him from entering. Though in the midst he noticed a pair of house slippers — his — perfectly placed and equally aligned. 

  
     “Well that’s a shock,” he spoke quietly.

  
     “Huh?”

  
The embroidered mascot smiled upside-down in Izaya's favour; he too gained its cartoonish expression. It tickled him with memories he didn't expect, like laughter exclusive to the past and good vibes that he’d long forgotten.

  
     “Don't worry about it, Shizu-chan…”

  
As he pulled bows from his laces, Izaya ignored the annoying mess of shoes that Shizuo had always made, simply placed his own next to the pile; he forgot about his old frustration when he’d tidy them, and further erased the eyerolls he’d receive when he did. For the moment, the little agitations were nullified.

  
     “...I'm coming in.”

  
The favour was small, but it was an invitation that let Izaya feel like a guest rather than an intruder.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\(=~=)/

     The apartment was at full capacity with a bartender in the kitchen and an elephant in the living room. Izaya had no excuse to dodge either one as he’d summoned both, yet moments upon minutes he paced in deliberation of if he should flee or fulfill the goal of his spontaneous visit. And no amount of hope, like at the doorway, could clear up his hesitancy.

  
His scenery brought a wrinkle to his brow, furthermore pursed his lips as he examined an overwhelming flood of memories in faded colour. Suddenly thrust into the thick of things presented him the opportunity to reevaluate what he’d already judged too many times. Such like scuffs on the walls that he knew the explicit stories behind, the unique routes they each took in order to reach various rooms; much like a picture frame filled with a photo of Shizuo’s brother rather than himself, like Izaya had implied with the gift. It was an abomination to which Izaya stubbornly tried to ignore, but never could escape how Kasuka disapproved of him within his peripheral whenever he walked by it.

  
Locked in a showdown of mutual dislike, he was caught off guard by a rattle of cabinetry in the distance. He replaced the frame within its dust guidelines before his attention shifted to the absent-minded fool that bumped around the narrow confines of the kitchen. Oddly, Shizuo didn’t care that he barely fit and he never really did.

  
          _ ”You know my place has more than just an impressive view. It’s got enough space for five or more bumbling Shizu-chans — scratch that, let’s just keep it to one, right?” _

  
No matter how Izaya tried to sell him on his own apartment, Shizuo had a frustratingly high appraisal of his shabby box.

  
It was like he awoke each morning with a wiped memory and forgot how many months he’d been an inmate of the three-star prison. Prideful, he’d boast to Izaya of how nice it was for such an affordable price, pleased that he was spared wailing ambulances and out-of-the-blue gang brawls. It was a breath of fresh air, a good omen of changing tides — high hopes for his future.

  
Inevitably that optimism was killed by none other than Izaya and his prerogative; his duty as an informant to save people from their own ignorance. So naturally he rationalised each perk on Shizuo’s checklist as if it were necessary, and unnecessarily nothing remained without due explanation.

_  
        “For instance, Shizu-chan, did you know that…” _

  
Drywall was cheaper than double-pane windows, which was why he was forced to rely on floor lamps, squared-off corners cost less, hence the reason for his boring floor plan; low grade carpet was easy to replace, which clearly explained why the flat appeared polished upon move-in.

  
__ " _ Simply put, it was especially built for your typical bachelor, unlike what you are…" _   
  


When Shizuo handled his disappointment with an  _ 'oh’ _ , the self-proclaimed saviour knew he’d gone too far — Izaya’s eyeopener ruined Shizuo’s simpleton perspective.

  
That memory and those that could attest came back to haunt him. They unearthed the possibility that Izaya’s harsh realism versus Shizuo’s naivete was the underlying problem of their dynamic, which they’d forced beyond rivalry to become a couple in hot water.

  
Could their relationship honestly last in the long run, or were he and Shizuo just a novelty soon to expire?

  
     “You know, I applaud you for how tidy you’ve kept this hole in the wall.” Izaya struggled through a compliment.

  
     Shizuo jumped at the sudden comment; judged Izaya with a half-formed frown before he dug through the fridge, “not like I had a choice.”

  
     “Is that so…”

  
     “You woulda sassed me if I didn't.”

  
     “And you can confirm with certainty that I would come back?” displeased with being predictable, he disguised his bothered browline with sardonics.

  
     “Yes.” Shizuo’s brute unwavered stoicism bore into Izaya’s confidence.

  
     “I suppose a congratulations is due.”

  
     “You just couldn't spare the sarcasm, huh?”

  
     “Why, my dear Shizu-chan, if you know me so well you should have predicted that. Bless your ignorant soul.”

  
Shizuo’s grip sunk into his obtained milk carton; Izaya swore the only reason he wasn’t covered in the contents was all thanks to a far off grocery day. He waved off the comment.

  
With a forced sigh, Shizuo tugged his fingers through scraggly blond bangs that combed back to expose inches of dark undergrowth. The atrocity stabbed Izaya with guilt.   
  


     “It seems that we’ve both mourned over the loss of certain shared activities.” 

  
Izaya twiddled an overgrown lock an inch out of style beyond his chin. Caught exposed, Shizuo dropped the nervous act in shame — grumbled to himself.

  
     “Fuck you,” he re-situated his hair. “You don’t get to mourn!”

  
     Pried from his rare moment of empathy, Izaya sneered. “I can mourn even if I made a mistake—”   
  


     “Not  _ this _ mistake!”

  
     “As if you haven't made questionable decisions in your lifetime,” he gestured the span of his body to deprecate himself.

  
     “You’re a disgrace to yourself, louse. I'm goin’ back to bed.”

  
     “You’re just going to run away?”   
  


     Shizuo’s eyes flashed. “First, don’t act like you didn’t do that before me! Second, I’m not gonna sit here and watch you put yourself on the damn chopping block!”

  
     “I can berate myself as I like, it’s not for you to decide!”

  
     “I’m done.” He threw up his hands.  
  
  
     “That’s it?” 

  
     “Yes.”

  
     “That’s  _ really _ it?”

  
     “Yes, goddammit!”   
  
  
     “My,  _ how the mighty fall _ , or so it goes.”

  
     Shizuo rolled his eyes, “You know where the door is, Izaya.” The floorboards creaked under his heavy steps, though his pace was too methodical to be natural.

  
     “Shizuo, wait…” Izaya spoke with a shred of desperation.

  
As commanded, Shizuo stopped at the bedroom and looked over his shoulder; the doorframe within his grip. Ultimately, he looked confused by his own anger; like it was borrowed from a time when he wasn’t exhausted.

  
Familiar with the malaise, Izaya turned their conversation to a softened staredown; he intended to talk, but nothing came out.

  
Both shared an unspoken message, but negotiated in silence for the other to speak it in lieu of their ability to. An apology, forgiveness, a truce, neither had the strength to relent. Pity, though, they had that in spades. 

  
Hurt dissolved Shizuo’s resolve and transformed him into a mess of emotions and nebulous expressions. Izaya forced himself to watch. It played like the reel of torture he already subjected himself to at night, that unbearable disappointment of others in him that he couldn’t drag himself to witness in person — shamefully, for too long. He was lucky, that he was cut short of the perpetual spin, at least in that moment.

  
     “...you know where the spare sheets are too...if you want.” 

  
     “I remember. Yes.” Izaya nodded.

  
Shizuo mirrored and confirmed the  _ ‘yes’ _ in a whisper, and then allowed the door to separate them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I scrapped my original fic for its limbs and innards then repurposed them for this monstrosity. Am I happy with it? I’m happy that this amateur reconstructive surgery is finished. If I squint my eyes, the blurry lines of dialogue are okay. Aha! Ahahaha… Just wait! The next chapter is when I finally break loose of my old fic shackles! And won’t that be a testament of my current writing prowess! (Psst, this is where you stop writing your authour note and post, me.)
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated. Thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

     Among his failures in life, only one did he commit on a daily basis — rather nightly. It wasn’t unique to circumstance, more like every opportunity he was given. As it was, Izaya had an innate ability to foil his own sleep cycle and in the moment it was more troublesome than other nights as a plague tossed toxic memories with rose tinted perspective. He re-imagined those tedious times that he and Shizuo fought until they worked…

            _“Maybe this isn’t…hate…”_

            _“If you’re insinuating it’s love, consider trying to convince me when our blood isn’t dripping from your fist, and you know, not when you’re about to pummel me.”_

…gave him answers for what was left to salvage, and brought about questions of what to make of the combined knowledge, both new and pre-existing.

            _“Maybe you were wrong to believe this was love.”_

            _“Like it’s that fuckin’ simple!”_

            _“Well, the hate and love_ -are- _easily confused.”_

    Of course he’d rather sleep through the uproarious silence, but it wasn’t as feasible as extending his sleepless day. No amount of staring at blank walls would act as a lullaby, not when regulated doses of sleep aids had failed him yet again. Not while he stood lock-kneed and tense, arm draped in a blanket that his bank statement recognised better than he. Especially not when the furniture judged his character — a pretentious anomaly among commoners. Truly he felt an outcast dead center in the room, inexplicably affected by the harsh criticism that posed a query: _was he even supposed to be at the apartment at all?_

Izaya approached a familiar bar stool that stood out much like himself; an inanimate companion, a centerpiece without intending to be. It was a direct mismatch of the squeaking embarrassment of cheap wood next to it, shoved away from the shiny and chique swiveling delight. Yet the stool angled out with daily usage, unlike how it should without Izaya present for quite some time, and as he slid onto the cushion he could almost feel the heat Shizuo gave away for months in his place.

He melded with the leather and truly relaxed for the first time since he’d arrived — wrapped himself in his faux fur blanket that held a reminiscent scent of all the times he spent in comfort of the man _still_ just out of his reach.

    “Should have asked me to bed.” He adjusted the blanket like an arm snug around his shoulder. “Coward.”

Izaya dismissed additional thoughts along that vein.

    “Well then, morning isn’t coming any quicker. Shall I inefficiently get some work done?”

Exhaustion had already settled in his eyes, but he forced the harsh lighting onto them anyway. He willed his thumb to wander across his phone screen — it hovered over an unread email, toggled to the next as he shook his head in denial of selecting countless burdens or clientele requests; unaccomplished tasks still bold and missed alerts flagged with obnoxious iconography to match, to which they all seemed to adopt an angry red overlay. Before he could contest, he made a hasty decision and the lot of his apps were terminated.

    “Just kidding,” he chuckled on behalf of his own nervous energy, “I guess.”

Obligations were replaced with a chatroom — desolate and made obvious by the marker counting 0 occupants. Though Izaya knew it would be that way before he entered, his only intent was to greet the low spill of members as the morning went on; honestly, it was to justify his extended trip into space.

Izaya tossed his phone to the side, but left it in his vision while he rested his head upon doubled forearms. Every few minutes he would jostle the thing awake to make sure it suffered along with him. At the least it was reassuring to have an additional sleepless partner than just the one in the other room denying him company.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter. Some of them might vary in length. XD;;


	4. Chapter 4

     Izaya had spent most of the morning checking for phone notifications — one by one — messages that weren’t coming, yet he almost believed they would blip into existence the moment his eyes fell upon the digital screen. There wasn’t much purpose for his action beyond preoccupation, he just couldn’t admit how exclusively he waited for the goddamn bedroom door to open for hours that blended into a long minute. It was tiring, the impatience that drained his battery rather than his lack of sleep. Though how could he be patient when he knew Shizuo hadn’t slept more than a few winks; the heavy thump and rustles every time the beast tossed and turned practically broadcasted his inability to reach REM and it was painful just how long the lie that he slept the morning away was kept up.

So when Shizuo finally trudged the distance of his mattress onward to grace his presence, it seemed that everything surrounding the event was a blessing, even the racket of a loose doorknob attempting to initiate its mechanism was enjoyable. Even the extended, nail-biting buildup was accepted as Izaya utilised the extra time to meticulously dress up his nonchalant air for the grand entrance. His legs elegantly tied at the last moment, chin tipped up with a lazy prowess, he propped himself up by sheer will alone. Without further hesitance the door swung open.

    “Good morning, sweetie~!” Izaya twiddled his fingers in a wave.

He exuded expectancy in a fashion that looked as awkward as he tried to hide it — then again Shizuo did the same, despite his groaned out, groggy grumble.

    “You’re still here.”

    “Indeed, but that’s what you wanted, right?” he winked.

Shizuo ignored as many pitiful flirts as he could — snuffed out his smile with a huff, and made his way to the kitchen.

He raised a section of his undershirt to scratch an itch just above a stretched-out waistband, every bit habitual as the series of cracks that rolled from his lower spine up to his shoulders. Izaya tilted his head as he spied, the same motion as Shizuo used while he forced his neck to crack with both hands. It was a fair bit of a cringe, given how familiar Izaya was to that particular strength, but knowing the outcome of each of his daily practices it wasn’t a worry that Shizuo might accidentally behead himself or something along those lines. It was a spectacle that lasted up until Shizuo paused his stretches. Curious of something upon the bar-top, he considered what to make of the object with dead eyes — the abnormality of a familiar carton that sat in a puddle of its own sweat.

    “You left the milk out,” Izaya pointed.

    “No fuckin’ shit?”

    “You also left the coffee on the heater. Not sure if you could tell, but the smell of burning mud is quite…pungent.” Izaya’s nose crinkled in jest.

    “And you couldn’t have done anything ‘bout it?” he rubbed at his eyes.

    “It’s not my place.”

    “…like that stopped you before, you damn brat.”

Shizuo went for an affectionate slap upside Izaya’s head, but it was evaded with an anticipated lean backward — a hum and chuckle in tow.

    He commanded Shizuo to stand down with a jab to the forehead. “Are you going to make it up to me?”

The sly tone alone drained colour from Shizuo, the touch did him in; it was technically their first form of physical content in months, though it was without nerves nor fear that his body reacted against his wishes.

    “H-hah?” His hand dropped to his side which directed Izaya to visually follow its course; drew his attention towards something that wished him a better ‘good morning’ than Shizuo had. “Are you serious?”

    “I meant coffee, Shi-zu-chan~. Coffee.” His brow raised, teasingly satisfied, his legs switched which topped.

Shizuo stumbled backward, the sudden lightheadedness worked against his balance, tripped him around the counter to create distance; perhaps hide. To recenter his thoughts he scrutinised the milk rather than face Izaya as they talked.

    “God, I—” he cleared the dry falsetto from his throat, “god, I fuckin’ I hate you.”

    “Tell that to your erec—”

    “DON’T!! Don’t start, you asshole!” Red flowed back into his cheeks.

In a burst of emotion, he made a quick decision to prove his might with a pitch of the carton into the sink where it impressively exploded into a mess of white.

    “…what will I do for cream?” Izaya laughed easily.

    “I’m makin’ your damn coffee, just shut up and take what you get!!”

—

    Per usual Izaya fell into observance, this time it was a particular movie of morning ritual, overplayed and overperformed. Even though he wasn’t able to watch the second actor — that is, _himself_ — the strain of rusty muscle memory told Izaya that he too kept close to the script of waiting for his lackluster brew and his unwillingly, willing bartender to join him.

They were lone actors stuck in a loop of endless takes in the midst of a dance around the same rickety set; their awkward passion had, and continued, to disappoint a hypothetical director with a perfect vision they could hardly live up to. It exhausted the couple’s ability to keep at it day-to-day in the past, hence how they both suffered through dry ritual before Izaya inspired a…hiatus of sorts. Time without it made it clear just how bored they had gotten; what rut they’d dug themselves into.

Rewatching it, though, made for good theatre.   

    While he maneuvered, Shizuo looked back and forth between his task and Izaya; off and on, he’d make eye contact only from a side-glance, but grew more and more anxious every time.

    “Would you stop that?”

    “Stop what?”  
  
    “Staring at me,” he messed with pre-ground coffee in the bag, “it’s annoying…”   
  
    “You never seemed to have a problem with it before.”

    Shizuo paused, “funny how things change.”   
  
The words appeared unsatisfactory to his disposition, but he slipped back upon the rails to avoid a negative train of thought.  
  
    The retired monster further fumbled through setting up the coffee machine again — a round two of what was botched hours back. The cord tangled around his wrist, his frustration crackled as if the coffee had already begun to brew.

It shocked Izaya that he didn’t crush the cheap thing in the process, rather he moved onto scooping grounds with care — only half made it to the filter. What little mess he swept into his hand ultimately made it to the floor when he dusted off the rest on his boxers. With a snap of plastic and a beep the machine began its broken melody.

Izaya could’ve watched Shizuo — _his_ performer — for hours; his own heated cheek lying in his palm, relaxed fingers curled around the arc of his head as it lulled to the side, completely in awe. He felt as if watching the romantic slice-of-life tragedy could make up for lost time — erase what mistake he’d made and perhaps turn it around. In the end, as predictable as the steps had become, no matter how boring they’d grown, Izaya realised he missed this silent film. It glossed his eyes somber.

When Shizuo turned, he was startled out of step; honestly, like he’d forgotten Izaya ever occupied the bar, except he couldn’t have forgotten as he’d been impossible to get off his mind all morning. So he had no retort but a harsh intake of air, equivalent to five breaths or more. His chest filled out broad and his shoulders gained height; his long-term depression was corrected by a miracle. Shizuo forgot to exhale.

Once more he followed their tried and true script. Without hesitation he reached over the counter to rest his hand on Izaya’s shoulder in trial of what he was allowed to get away with. The blunt laminate edge pushed far into his gut, yet he pressed onward without notice. All he was focused on was how flush Izaya had became as he massaged warmth over his cold shoulder; how his ex-partner melted into the touch and his shoulders rolled forward into a comfortable hang. Their exchange felt like coming home to experience their past.

Izaya eased himself off the chair, smooth and casually — metal scritched across the tile flooring as he moved closer to Shizuo to let him stroke his cheek with a feather touch. His vision closed off the world; he was relaxed enough to finally let his sleep deprivation take over, though was alert enough to will the moment to move faster towards what he wanted.

    “Seriously…” Shizuo hesitated, “…why the hell are you here, Izaya?”

Words waited in queue somewhere on the back of Izaya’s tongue, jumbled with an incomprehensible answer. The failed phrasing was more a stumble through various syllables that he tried to figure out the taste, but only managed a stutter. One language was too much a challenge, but his body puppeted him though straightforward communication; he moved closer and hung just short of them conversing through touch.

His fingers weaved with the golden half of Shizuo’s locks and tugged hard at the brown roots. They hiccuped — choked on hot air before they went to steal more oxygen from the other. Only the rough of their lips grazed and only a second delay from an inconvenient interruption — a wail of the coffee machine.

Both men jumped apart; the machine’s alert continued on, as did their stare.

    “Let me get it.” Izaya shook off their eye contact. He peeled away with his hand at the back of his head.

    “No I’ll do it.”

    “It’s fine.”

    “I started the damn pot, I’ll finish it.”

    “How about you _don’t_ press your luck, Shizuo,” he snipped, far humourless than his light, snappy tone, “alright?”

    “Luck?! Is it luck that we almost fuckin’ kissed?”  
  
    “Please,” he looked pained, “you know it was!”

Izaya regretted his snap judgement as soon as the shock spread wide on Shizuo’s features. The expression — the hurt — made it hard to ignore, how the look of betrayal was similar to one of another accident still shiny and new. What broke them apart and hadn’t been addressed due to silent respect that Izaya probably didn’t deserve.

Undeniably it was possible for Shizuo to forgive him, Izaya knew it; decidedly it was impossible for him to forgive himself, and he _despised_ it.

    “Fine. Do what you want, Izaya. Leave it burning again for all I care. I need to shower for work.”

    “I need to leave as well.”

    “No! You stay put. We need to talk!” Shizuo bellowed. “So caffeinate yourself or somethin’, but hell, if you leave, the next time I see you I’ll bury your smug-ass grin into the damn concrete!”

    “You sure don’t look like you want to wait until _next_ time.” He narrowed his eyes, but his voice wavered, “what happened to your controlled temper?”

    “You happened!!”

    “Oh…”

    “Yeah, _‘oh’_ ,” he growled.

    “…”

    “Tch, what happened to your nonsense monologues…” Shizuo muttered as he turned towards the bathroom.

Izaya held his tongue as if he even had any dialogue to hold back. If he actually did, the cry of the door on its hinges would have interrupted the spew anyway. It slammed near to splinters; surprisingly it was more apt to claim it was forced into its cradle, snug and intact.

    “…looks like I _will_ need that drink after all, Shizu-chan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where more of the drama comes in? ¯\\_(uwu)_/¯
> 
> Kudos and comments always loved and appreciated. ♡


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's light sexual content.

    Izaya wasn’t a hot-blooded individual, he only mimicked one — merely caught up in the moment it was hardly a permanent detriment to his nature. It’s just that he was _currently_ hot and bothered, both mind and body struck with fever.

An overactive imagination compromised his chill composure as all his attention was drawn to the bathroom which hid a scene he could only pretend that he witnessed. Warmed ceramic cradled in his hands, overheated brew burned his throat; polyester-wrapped cushions redirected his body heat up onto him, an old flame barely separated by drywall yet completely exposed — Izaya could _not_ keep cool.

              _“Mind if I join, hot stuff?”_

              _“Only if you drop the shitty puns.”_

Honestly it was the simple things Izaya remembered the most, what he missed more than the sex, but //clearly he was not without those lusty thoughts. Due to circumstance, one beat out the other as an obvious winner.

    “What a selfish beast he can be… probably doesn’t even know that he’s a tease…”

The shower ran stifling as Shizuo was wont to run it which created a blanket of humidity inside the tight quarters while an extension of its steamy forcefield billowed into the living room. Although he couldn’t see it, Izaya knew how the suds further censored the attractive man in the shower, its attempts failed as soap slid over muscle to his feet. Izaya remembered the way Shizuo looked, though not the way he felt beneath his own fingertips. He remembered the way his own curves were felt up, but not the actual touch of Shizuo’s carefully rough caress.  
  
Memories recalled the initial chill of water, but couldn’t reenact how heated the droplets became after they hit their skin; how the smell of retired deodorant and cologne washed away all distractions — how oddly sweet and hypnotising their sweat could be while its misty remnants swirled their bodies. Izaya distinctly remembered the satisfying burn of shampoo when it seeped through his ill-sealed eyes, what slipped beyond his own smirk while the two paused to drown in air; the sweet-nothings, crude compliments, the spoken sputters and spat words, groans and giggles, frantic and hungry touches…they were all painfully arousing to his senses and only his resolve prevented Izaya from adding himself to the scene; easily change the teen appropriate content to something R-rated.

              _“It’s good clean fun, hm?”_

               _“That’s what you call our showers?”_

               _“It’s an idiom, Shizuo.”_

               _“So you would mind breakin’ it then…”_

              _“You know, just because we’re in the shower doesn’t change the fact that your thoughts are_ ‘dirty’ _.”_

Of course their showers were hardly successful — they were an excuse to feel alright about jacking up the water bill, an expenditure that was satisfying enough to split dessert once in awhile, not like Izaya ever needed to worry about that sort of monetary slipup. Under the sensual effects of those moments it was fun to pretend that they were two living in financial poverty while rich in love. And now Izaya found himself in bankruptcy with an overabundant desire to spend beyond his budget.

That’s what drove him to crack the door, curse as he remembered the shower stall was beyond visibility from that viewpoint. The mirror also a wash all hazy and ineffective, barely even a blurry form upon it. Frustrated he gave up, turned away while he tugged the door behind him until he heard a low and murmured externalised thought — an echo from within the stall.  
  
    “…Izaya…”

It shook him like the rain of discarded water that Shizuo shook from his hair, that to which he glimpsed between the door crack above the hinges.

    “Fuck.”

Izaya thumped his head against the corner door frame, chastised himself and Shizuo for setting him up with such a nuisance to deal with. One glance of the other man with his head hung at his shoulders, affected by his own sensations, had Izaya feel like he needed to join in the same act — separate, in secret, but still the same. Auditory cues sent him into his memories, to one in particular and perhaps a twisted favourite of his subconscious.  
_  
_

—

_  
His skin had burned red, agitated from the extended spray of the shower head; it was harshest across his shoulders and traced around his blades, stung over the tracks of nails that sliced like knives. Clean cuts were only deep enough to balance out the soft attention that pathed around his abdomen. A half-drenched mop even with the height of Izaya’s waist while Shizuo’s eyes stayed out of view, not as though it weren’t easy to read his intent without having access to facial expressions._

_“You have work today.”_

_“Yeah…”_  
  
    “And you’re taking your time.”  
  
_“Uhhu.”_

 _“You’re not leaving enough time for yourself.”_  
  
_“Then make it up to me later, Izaya, just shut up.”_

_“How bothersome, planned sex is such a travesty to the whole act.”_

_“For fuck’s sake.”_

_Izaya had to hand it to Shizuo on occasion, he could be swift in motion, a flash strategist when need be. Unpredictability — the highest high that Izaya could extract from any moment, but especially from Shizuo’s actions._

_Within a second Shizuo towered over him once again, the next moment Izaya felt tile grout imprint instantaneous bruises at his kneecaps; and even though he knew what the implied course of action was, it was still exhilarating to look up and feign sweet naivete and wait for direction from Shizuo._

_“I guess I’ll…make it up to you later, louse.”_  
  
_Izaya grinned, tickled that his partner could get so flustered over others wanting to please him; clearly it was Shizuo who was more in desperate need of a release anyway. Izaya shook his head while he played it off as trying to discard excess water from his bangs._

_“I’ll hold you to that, Shizu-chan”_

_It was anticipation that often made Shizuo shudder, sometimes more than the sexual favour itself. He was just that intune with his instincts, feelings, and the moment — just a tease along the underside of his shaft riled him intensely, the intentionally slow buildup to his tip was on par with a low key climax._

_The drawn out ministrations went on longer than needed, but it was a treat, something that Izaya could get off on simply by observing Shizuo while he was entranced by the atmosphere; how ecstatic he was, eyes widened at the increasing pulse. Jaw slack, he stuttered guttural words, braced himself against the shower wall with a suction grip that almost broke the tile. And with a light rake of teeth that ended with Izaya’s tongue play, it dialed up the sensation as the slit was given explicit attention; Shizuo nearly did the same damage to the floor with his curled toes as he did the wall as he restrained from premature release. He wanted to extract everything he could from Izaya’s efforts._

_He seemed blinded of all reality yet intensely aware of his partner. Paid Izaya his gratitude, who hid his face while he bobbed forward and back between without eye contact, shielded away so he couldn’t confirm who grasped his hips firm fingertips, took only a solo knee while the other rest against his calve as if any amount of contact wasn’t enough — as if there were any confusion of what man applied his skilled tongue. Shizuo stroked from the crest of Izaya’s bowed head, around the outside of his ear in order to trace what he could of Izaya’s cheek; sensual appreciation and a sincere_ ‘thank you’ _. It made Izaya cum after the arduous stroke of his own erection that he could hardly focus on while he worked at the job he did for Shizuo._  


_—_

   
    It was a struggle to restrain himself from whipping the door open, forgetting to strip his clothes and ask for that returned favour that he was promised so long ago. Slam Shizuo against the wall to make him snarl, smile with relief that he was still desired. But what cemented Izaya’s feet, what prevented him from doing much more than kneading his palm over his crotch, was ruined when he recalled the tragedy that had indebted Shizuo in the first place.

                _“Was that good enough for you, sweetie?”_

_“You’re ruining the moment.”_

_“Aw, how am I ruining the moment, sugar-tits?”_

_“Ugh, you know how.”_

_“Alright, alright. I’ll stop…Shizu-chan.”_

_“Fuckin’ brat…”_

_“See you have nicknames for me too, sweet cheeks.”_

_“Ugh, I shouldn’t wanna marry such an annoying pest.”_

_“…excuse me?”_

Izaya stopped as the scene came back to haunt him at the most inopportune moment.

                _“Ah, well… I thought of ways…the best time to ask…I just…nothing felt right yet…_ ”

                 _“You think this is something you spring up out of nowhere, without consulting me first? Like a rigged proposal flash mob where everyone’s in on it including one being proposed to? A cheap way of pressure me into saying yes?”_

_“The hell is a flash mob?”_

_“Shizuo that’s not the point.”_

_“What is it then!?”_

_“You’re not ready for marriage.”_

Izaya forgot that he held his coffee until the mug dropped at his feet. The shock killed his desires upon crash of ceramic.

    “Hey! Izaya…you out there? You alright?”

  
Squeaks, thumps, the slide of a glass door caused Izaya to panic.

                _“The fact you were thinking about how you would propose rather than if I would even say yes tells me that. How you’re still too selfish for a partnership.”_

_“…ah…right.”_

Izaya ditched the mess he made and bolted for the door; he scrambled over the couch instead of rounding the obstacle. Forgetting his coat and extraneous phones he left on the counter, he only snagged his shoes before he struggled with slide locks and deadbolts that used to be easier to undo.

    “Goddammit, you better not leave, asshole!”

Izaya peeked over his shoulder, noticed that Shizuo barely tied a towel around his waist like he knew he didn’t have the time to dress in anything else.

    “Sorry,” Izaya wavered.

A salute and a door slam preceded his dash to the elevator, conveniently a crack away from shutting; he managed to slip on by and cushion his momentous collision with the back wall.

Izaya rammed his head on the surface, breathed all too heavily to calm his panic. Only then did he notice a mature older lady to his left who was shockingly tempered, like she long knew of Shizuo’s chaos; he made sure to flash an apologetic smile regardless.

As the lobby neared, he slipped on his shoes, forgot about the laces and prepared to bolt.

              _“You won’t even move in with me, like you’re intimidated by my success?”_

_“…well…”_

_“You’re preoccupied by the romance, Shizuo, not as if we even have much of it.”_

_“You finished?”_

_“Not especially, no, but I think you want me to be.”_

Izaya struggled a final breath as the doors opened. He took long strides through the space, but halted in terror. At the stairway exit stood his ornery ex, loosely wearing his trademark parka as some sad attempt to cover more of his decency.

    “That apology upstairs wasn’t what I wanted, louse!” He didn’t even huff, was barely short of breath, just spoke clearly with a commanding bellow.

    “I know,” Izaya nodded, shrugged with a pained smile. “Sorry,” he directed his word towards the puzzled couple shoved in the corner in clutch of the other.

    “Neither was that! How obnoxious can you get!?”

Izaya faced the street entrance, a fraction of pride in his posture, though his legs still refused to progress; stationary, he continued to trigger the automated doors to open after their close. While paralysed he fiddled with a small item — his hand dangled at his hip; polished and unmarred, a piece of jewelry was spun around in contemplation, consolation. It was something he hadn’t worn nor held earlier.

    “You’re such a coward. Don’t know why I thought it’d be any different when you showed up.”

    “Well,” Izaya pocketed the item, replaced it with his cellphone, “you _are_ an idiot.”

He gained confidence from the snide cover and walked off — to his satisfaction Shizuo let him go. Just outside he let go of his breath.

    “I screwed up again, Shizu-chan. Honestly, I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Creating dumb nicknames for Izaya to use for Shizuo is kinda fun...
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! ♡


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts at the end...

     The thing about running away from your problems is that it’s not a solution, it’s a coping mechanism. It resolves one issue but replaces it with another; a cowardly deed that re-stations one’s weakness out of sight while it remains in mind for everyone else.

It’s a strategy, running away, and not a very good one. Nothing more than a poor excuse for a sad soul — and a detriment to an unfortunate case put in recess.

    “So you’re back to ignoring him?”

Izaya flipped his phone so the screen could meet the table surface; it amplified a vibration or two.

    “Now what would give you that idea?”

A buzz came from Shinra’s coat pocket which interrupted another and a subsequent in queue; he brought it out to hold a foot before Izaya in a seamless flash. Normally some amount of glee would have met the doctor’s lips for how he mimicked one of his love’s trademark poses, but flat displeasure won out.

    “I wonder why that could be?”

    “How many times has it been?” The informant skimmed the screen before it was pulled from his purview.

Certain keywords had stuck out from the rest as if bolded; words like, _‘Izaya’_ and _‘kill’_ were interspersed between phrases, like _‘I swear’_ at the beginning, _‘this time’_ in the middle, and _‘I won’t’_ somewhere near the end. Shizuo’s compulsion to clarify his intent was so natural that it may as well have been a confession of murder before it was committed. Maybe that should be reassuring?

    “I don’t pay attention past my disappointment to count. It’s annoying to assume that the stream of text messages is Celty narrating her day for me only to find that it’s your boyfriend—”

    “Ex.” Izaya corrected, a stern look to his eye.

    “—that’s been abusing redial and over-utilising text prediction. Or maybe it’s text-to-speak; sometimes I get incoherent messages that somehow manage to sound more rage filled than if he abused my doorbell instead.”

    “That’s not my fault. You could pick up your phone, you know.”

    “So could you!” Shinra threw his hands onto the back support of the couch, not too far from clipping Izaya’s nose while he slammed them down in frustration; upon impact his glasses fell askew, made him more comical than intimidating.

In jest, Izaya pulled back from Shinra’s tired pout and into a shrug. “Now that’s silly. Why would I pick up _your_ phone?”

—

    The act of weakness stretched out across a week — less than tolerable for all of Izaya’s friend-like connections, easier to deal with himself as he fled Shizuo’s text message war zone with ease, but those neutral parties forced into the fray dragged him back into the trenches to which he met hell without so much of a helmet to protect him.

    “Why would Shizu-chan assume we’re hanging out?”

    “I don’t know, ask him when you call him back.” Kadota’s eyes flashed and his crossed arms mimicked a disappointed father.

Izaya was lucky that any attacks weren’t physical just heavily fired with baritone.

    “But you realise, Dotachin, calling him would defeat the purpose of ignoring him.”

    “I’m not even going to act surprised that you’ll admit to ignoring him. For my sake, at least, get him to stop calling _me_. It’s annoying on its own, but Erika’s demands for the next installment of her real-life soap opera are worse, and I don’t think I can fake that the messages stopped for much longer.”

    “Sounds like trouble in otaku paradise.”

    “Any paradise, if there ever was one, has been lost.”

They shared an easy chuckle. One of the two bookstore loiterers tugged his beanie back into place while the other corrected the lay of fur over his shoulders; they walked each other to the automatic sliding doors without a single glance to confirm they were going the same way.

    “Well, it’s been nice catching up with you old chum.” Izaya clapped Kadota on the back as he lead their exit through the doorway. “Maybe next time your gang and us can share cup ramen out of the back of the _Mystery Machine_.”

With a shocked expression, Kadota felt impressed that any effort was made to schedule time to hang out — faked or not, it was more than Izaya ever tried to in the past.

    “I’ll even splurge for you guys and bring the 900¥ kind, my treat!”

And it was that syrupy sarcasm that called the comment for what it was meant to be: a precursor of Izaya committing to nothing, promising nothing. Running from his duty to end Kadota’s involvement with the odd-couple’s immature fight.

    “It really is a wonder that Shizuo thinks we hang out.” Kadota sighed as Izaya gave him a cutesy wave goodbye.

—

    It was quickly day seven — the dawn of week one since the incident and Izaya was still avoidant of the simple solution that everyone else seemed to know but him. Rather he knew it, he just didn’t care to put it into practice; and everyone wished he would stop pretending that his bone-bruised ego paralysed him from fixing things with Shizuo. It was psychological warfare at this point, stubbornness to win against his ex’s persistence for closure or resolution.

The whole scenario was pathetic.

      _[Ku] Iza-nii, it’s weird for Shizu-nii to be texting us and not the other way around.  
      [Ku] Are you going to text him back already?_

_[Mai] Fool._

_[Ku] Exactly! You’re a fool! An idiot brother. We’re not even in high school anymore, but you’re involving us in adolescent drama like we are!!!  
      [Ku] Gah! You’re like a teenage girl!!_

_[Mai] You’re sad._

_[Ku] Tell you what! We’ll send Shizu-nii over to your place so you can just make up and fuck._

_[Ku] Or fuck and make up. Either one.  
      [Ku] Hahaha._

_[Kanra] If you two interfere I will stop sending my dear sisters loving gifts of extra spending money._

_[Mai] No bother._

_[Ku] Keep the petty change, Nii-nii. We make enough on our own._  
  
      [Kanra] Do I even want to know where you get your money from?

_[Mai] …_

_[Ku] Huehue, better off only knowing that we make more than you do!_  
      [Ku] Bye-bye, Nii-nii~.  
      [Ku] We do this out of love!

_[Mai] Die._

Izaya wasn’t positive that their proclamation was legitimate, all things considered he’d act as if it were. Though his line of defense was likely to go against their wanted outcome, they wouldn’t know that fact until it was too late.

    “Too bad your brother can outwit you two twerps.” Upon his schedule, he made a note on to send the obsessed duo on a _wild-Yuhei_ hunt and moved onto better use of his work hours.

Furthermore he ignored a stray text message. Despite the sender’s hopes, the fairy had a fairly low chance to get a conversation going — that scarily passive threat was the type that’d only have an affect on her partner, assuredly not him.

      _//I’m tired of you playing this game, Izaya. Shizuo is really messed up this time around…//_

Celty could play no head games with him.

—

    Days later Izaya had been made an audience to a concert of metal all afternoon; intentionally raucous and purposely harsh, the crashes, clangs, and slams of kitchenware upset his continued productivity. All musical measures were a tune played out by an ornery employee, these days a willing partner in crime, but her overpaid salary still wasn’t enough to mute her percussion nightmare.

It only stopped when Izaya stopped his keyboard staccato for the day, progress little as it might be.

    “Take it.”

    “Woah there, Namie-san. Didn’t know you were into that.”

Izaya addressed her phrasing rather than the food container wrapped in a cloth bag that was extended out to him. Namie’s arm was firm in front of herself, her offer pressed against his chest and demanded that he ‘take it’ or face repercussions.

    “Take your cowardly ass over to your boyfriend's—”

    “Ex.”

    She spoke louder, “—to your _boyfriend’s_ apartment and talk things over with the bastard over dinner.”

Although it looked like it was a traditional bento made with love, akin to _‘what mom used to make’_ , his secretary looked a lioness that threatened an attacker of her pride rather than the human mother of a man-child that she was.  
  


    So thanks to the literal shove through his apartment door, Izaya found himself propped against the front of another. Slunk with his elbows upon his knees, a cloth bag dangled by an ear between his legs. He watched it spin before he directed it to go counterclockwise and around again to meet the same pattern.

Whether it was his misjudgement of time or Shizuo was late, it didn’t change the fact that the mystery wasn’t one he could solve with pulled fabric, not like the uncover of what food Namie had made for the unhappy couple. For some reason it felt wrong to peek without the other recipient present as well. Maybe it was bad luck, as if anything that Namie touched could be blessed with good omens. What misfortune awaited him upon Shizuo’s eventual arrival made him refuse to take chances with weak willed boredom, and it itched his fingers to fiddle with the tight knot.

    “No.”

Izaya perked up; he hadn’t noticed an elevator beep nor heavy footsteps — an oddity for the perceptive man.

    “Don’t pretend that you weren’t desperate for my attention all week.”

    “I’m not pretending.” Shizuo stoically defined his scowl.

    “Are you sure? Maybe you were secretly hoping that I would fulfill some psychic booty call.”

    “Fuckin’ hell, just go home! You’re drunk.”  
  
    “We both know I’m not.” He muttered, “and that joke was hardly funny the first time, Shizu-chan.”  
  
    “Then how else are you here?”  
  
    “Easy, I walked.”  
  
    “ _WHY_ else are you here?”

    The long since hot, now room-temperature meal finally made its cameo. Izaya held up the bag with a dainty flirt, his pinky up on high, “a gift from my secretary.”  
  
    Shizuo scowled harder. “Give my compliments to the chef and leave.”

    “There’s dessert.”  
  
The emotionally exhausted man grumbled while he kicked his head back, his eyes pinched closed just as he pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed with aggression. Shizuo was annoyed that everyone assumed that sugary sweets would automatically sway him. In any other case it would have, but in this particular scenario…it _still_ did, though only to shut Izaya up and get him to stop with the needy pout that he wore as a secondary tactic.

Izaya knew that Shizuo couldn’t make him disappear, he also knew that he couldn’t let him run away of his own volition — he was certain that in a matter of seconds he would invite him in just to stop their passive aggressive squabble performed through pigeon mail.

    “Hm, looks like it’s strawberry shortcake too. She knows you—”

    “For the love of… Just get the fuck in here, fleabag!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, I had a tad bit fun with this one — what, with a horde of characters all randomly showing up within the same chapter, just to prove ~~how much I love writing dialogue between petulant Izaya and anyone~~ annoying Izaya and Shizuo can be to everyone around them. 
> 
> As always, kudos, comments and feedback are always appreciated and welcomed!


	7. Chapter 7

Without so much as a drumroll reveal, Shizuo looked at their shrouded meal with abject horror, as though he already knew the innards of the boxed food. Widened eyes, invisible sweat, he suffered from the bane of a psychic’s foresight, somehow incapable of receiving the gift as a surprise. In actuality it was the scent of specific spices that he was experienced enough with to separate the smell from stale apartment air.

“She made curry.”

Experienced, because Shizuo seemed to have trauma attached to the dish, which the sight scrunched Izaya’s nose as he struggled to recall something. A shared memory, or that’s what he felt it might be, one that he should know like a favourite meal — because it _was_ one of his —the meal— and he hadn’t eaten it for quite some time.  
  
Izaya struggled to peel the lid off the plasticware, simultaneously struggled to keep his focus on Shizuo’s expression as he did, his hope to gain insight play-by-play. Thoroughly to the end, it was identical horror that remained his reaction even when the prediction was confirmed.

     “Well isn’t that a treat.” When he peered down at box cradled in his hands he smiled partially. “Namie-san makes delicious traditional brown curry.”

     “I know.”

Disgust poisoned his lips. 

_Oh boy…_

     “Hm? Why the resentful tone, Shizu-chan?”

    “Don’t play innocent!”

    “I can’t _play_ if it’s not an act. Consider that I don’t always have something up my sleeve.” He showed off a naked wrist, his cuff that was gathered at his elbow. 

    Shizuo regarded it as evidence that waived off criminal charges, but was disgruntled with the verdict. “Maybe I’m the only one who remembers ‘cause I was the one who couldn’t live up to your standards.”

Did Shizuo really remember something he didn’t, or was it that he pulled at his strings? Izaya studied the curry from vegetable chunk to protein, the rich cedar to the darkened ring around the edge; individual ingredients each acted a recollection of the last time he indulged — the sprig of garnish that he often discarded was the sinker of what line Shizuo cast to fish for.

“ _Ahh,_ ” Izaya drew out grimly, “you made me curry once, didn’t you?”

—

_“Oh Shizu-chan, I think even the roux, rues the day it tasted this curry.” Izaya addressed the toasted flour mixture that separated itself from broth, dripped from the spoon to add gloss back from where it came._

_“It’s inspired; smokey, but only because it was burned. Spiced, but not well and probably a cover for your flubbed ratio.”_

_Fingers wrapped around the granite counter, flexed, but considered not to damage the surface as an unconscious favour. “What the hell!? I make you goddamn curry and all you can do is critique it?!”  
  
_ “I thought you’d want constructive feedback.”

_“Feedback? That’s constructive feedback? Sounds like you’re needlessly harsh of my cooking, like you’re protective of a lover and their shitty food,” Shizuo muted his tongue, temporarily numbed his ability to use it, “or something.”_

_Izaya dropped his spoon and fed a cackle to his laugh. “A lover? You think me and Namie-san…?”_

_“Yeah, okay,” Shizuo raked his bangs back, “maybe… Maybe I’m paranoid.”_

_“Just because we had a one night stand hardly means I’m primed to cheat, Shizu-chan.”_

_The glossed stone creaked out in mercy as Shizuo got bested by confirmation bias.“You two slept together?”_

_“Once.”_

_“When?”_

_“Jealous are we?”_

_“Fucking when!?” He slammed his hands down and rattled tabled utensils and troubled thoughts._

_Izaya eased himself back for an escape. “Sometime between you wanting me hospitalised and you personally wanting to bury me six-feet under. No matter; about the time she gave me head, the only one_ you _wanted was mine on a platter.”_

_“Fuck you.”_

_“Well, you didn’t want to…” he wryly added._

_“Why the hell didn’t you tell me? Why the hell is she still your secretary?”_

_“One, it never came up. Two, she most assuredly pictured me as her brother, so what does that tell you? Three,” he added a thumb to his presented peace sign, “you never told me about your fling with that Vorona chick, but I never questioned_ your _faithfulness.”_

_“…oh…” The evidence recoiled Shizuo, foiled his argument with a bullet of truth; taken to the chest and slumped him further into a leatherback barstool. He put more wear into the kitchen furniture than it would’ve procured in its lifetime.  
_

_Izaya held the rack of his trepidatious nerves while he searched for any sign of hostility he should be wary of; all he found was a hint of jealousy that dissolved into regret, swirled around his lip curled strong and circled his heavy eyes._

_“So can we move on and go get take out? I’ll treat you to whatever your heart desires.” Izaya forced himself to add soft consolation to his demand as he rolled his eyes and rose; he pushed his seat in prematurely, desperate to leave the offensive curry behind._

_Shizuo was stone in his slump, “I’m not hungry.”_

_A click of his tongue and Izaya was already on his way out. “What a bother you can be.”_

—

    “I wanted to try my luck at the dish you loved so much. Make it just like _she_ made it.”

    “Well, I understand that now. Though you _did_ unfairly accuse me. A tad bit overreacted.” Izaya rebutted poignantly.

    “Because you were an asshole!”

    Izaya flicked the tip of Shizuo’s nose, “because _that’s_ reason to believe I cheated. Besides, was I more of an asshole than normal? You should expect that I’ll act that way.” He never had the blunt force that his partner did — rather his _ex_ , but it snapped Shizuo out of his funk all the same, a chuckle just at the back of his throat.

    “We kinda messed that up.”

    “Shizu-chan, we messed a lot of things up, not even just this.” A flash of anxiety struck his features. “But that’s our thing: we fight, we fuck, we fuck things up.”

    “We do.” Shizuo nodded before he shook his head in dismay.

    “But you know what’s not fucked up?”

    “Hm?”

Izaya preceded his response with the taste he tested off his finger, a healthy amount of a congealed glob he swiped from the container.

    “ _This curry._ ”

    “Oh, shut up! How good could a flea’s taste buds be?”

A duplicate crinkle adorned their eyes as they loosened up to the idea that the other was their dinner date. They both decided with a silent nod: their food held no significance other than their current satiation. It was anti-climatic and easier than expected, so they grasped at the chance to move on, now with a check that marked off their progress on a laundry list of conflict.

—

    Their knees were set two inches apart from being uncomfortable as they leaned into their conversation. Colourful and boisterous, they exchanged nothings and happenstances; expended their backlog of stories they’d kept fresh, in hopes that one day they could share them with the other — with Izaya’s beautiful monologues for Shizuo, and Shizuo’s stroll through vignettes for Izaya. Light and sweet, it threatened to run their wells dry before they could add more to prevent future boredom.

    “…even Tom was pissed.” Shizuo favoured the right side of the ceiling to pluck details from his memory. “He pushed _me_ back an’ yelled right in the bastard’s face.”

    “That’s cute, Shizu-chan. Oddly a relief,” Izaya held out a spoon before him, full up on rice and less curry.

    “A relief, eh?” He edged forward to blow steam off the surface, his hand cupped below the gap of another.

    “Seems I don’t have to worry about my bodyguard now that he finally has his own bodyguard.”

Shizuo stole his offered bite just to hold the moment that they were connected by proxy; he let the curved metal shape his lips. Perhaps they noticed the slip-up Izaya made of ownership, like it was still his to claim — as if it never wasn’t. They acted ignorant of the glitch in his program. 

All the while, a particular glisten gathered at the corner of Shizuo’s eye; a type of saline Izaya recognised as a product of relieved humour. It was subtle, the difference between what he himself willed back and what the other man let show, but the similarities made it an endearing shared reaction.

Suddenly aware of Shizuo’s ridiculous position the two separated — a spoon protracted, the blond fully weighed his chair down, but words continued on after only a short pause.

    “As if I needed one,” he smirked.

    Izaya hummed for him to reconsider, “debt collecting is a dangerous job, what with those horny idiots who can’t keep it in their pants, much more their wallet in their pockets.”

    “That’s true.”

    “I often speak the truth.”

They brushed knees; the minor touch was warmer than what kneecaps should provide, rather it transposed emotion, wafted over their connection like Summer air. There was a spark that hadn’t shocked them months prior, even further days in the past. At their beginning it was frigid, but also a comfort to share their freezer space, with hands occasionally clutched as a sign that they were trying. 

Now, though, it was hard to ignore the spill of kinetic energy that tickled their fingertips and resonated up to burn their cheeks.

    “…I missed this.”

    “What exactly?”

    “Us chattin’,” Shizuo shrugged, careful not to wrench them apart, “your wit.”

    “Oh~? I distinctly remember you making snide remarks about it on several occasions.” Izaya swallowed his own bite, barely able to breathe before Shizuo suggested his piled up cutlery like a comrade smoker that shared his lighter.

Politely, Izaya shook his head, held up a hand that asked for pause; hesitated when Shizuo pressed a little further — eventually gave in. Especially, he savoured the flavour.

    “It wasn’t that often.”

    “I mean it was weekly, Shizuo. It was several times weekly.”

    “Doesn’t that mean you used witticisms too much?”

    “Woah!” Izaya brightened. “That’s my boy, upping his banter game!” He motioned to applaud, but a smashed potato to his mouth beat pride to the punch. 

    “God, you’re an annoying pest.”

    Izaya sputtered the spud; it sounded much like an intentional spit take. With the back of his hand he cleaned starchy specks from his mouth, “likewise, kettle-chan.”

    Shizuo smudged the final fleck from Izaya’s lip with his thumb. “Whatever, pot-kun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bittersweet moments are like...my lifeblood.
> 
> As always, kudos, comments and feedback are always appreciated and welcomed!

**Author's Note:**

> So it's an established relationship, but they're working through something. Keeping it vague in order to see how people will take it. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated~


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